


Vials of Dittany

by boredsince1894, youngbek



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Torchwood
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Crossover, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, be prepared, eventually comfort, this is going to be a wild emotional rollercoaster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 03:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10376913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boredsince1894/pseuds/boredsince1894, https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngbek/pseuds/youngbek
Summary: The Torchwood team is overflowing with problems that usually boil down to what happened in their childhoods. We've taken the characters and blended them into the magical world of Hogwarts to address those problems, and maybe even solve a few of them. Or, at the very least, hurt them a lot and then slowly heal their pain. Heavy emphasis on lgbtqpa and neurodivergent representation with a whole lot of understanding.





	1. A Hint of Light

**Author's Note:**

>           Hello readers! Raelyn and I thought we would say a few words before this story begins, just to give you a little context. At the time of writing this letter out to you, it has been exactly one year since we started on this huge journey. In this year this story has helped the both of us and reassured us in a way that the people in our lives couldn’t, and has made us closer than we thought possible because of it. In building this world we became a family, both between ourselves and our characters. We know you have different thoughts on the characters, that you would have sorted them and written them in a completely different way that our own, but we hope that you can appreciate our way regardless and give our story a chance. We have a reason for everything we’ve done. So whoever you are and what you feel for Torchwood and the Harry Potter world, we welcome you to read and become a part of the family that we began one year ago.  
> Thank you.  
> Bek
> 
>           Hi, everyone! This year has just been amazing for me. Writing this story with Bek has been the biggest project I’ve ever (willingly) taken on, and it’s definitely been the most rewarding. We’ve both grown into proud parents, with this story and all of its characters being our children. Now, our baby is going out into the world, and I have to admit, it’s terrifying. It’s like I need one more hug before they go off. Maybe you find it weird or self-important, the two of us writing out this preamble, but you have to understand: this story means the world to us. It has gotten me through this year when nothing else could. It has saved my life. These characters, no matter how you may agree or disagree with the way they are portrayed here, represent everything that is sometimes too hard or too realistic to come to terms with in real life. The things that we (you, Bek, and I) feel towards these characters and this world form out of being able to relate to them. Sometimes realizing that is like a punch in the gut, and sometimes it’s having to cry with relief. EIther way, I hope we’ve done our job and you can still feel that towards our interpretation.  
> Lots of love,  
> Raelyn

          It was really quite remarkable that no one heard her. The loud crack in the air resounded through the area, but no one came to investigate. She supposed she should be grateful for that, even if she had the perfect camouflage if she needed it. Though it seemed she wouldn’t as she sighed and walked from the alley’s mouth, flattening her robes. Her hard soled shoes clacked across the pavement towards a shabby looking collection of flats. 

          She wondered why she was always the one that had to meet with the new muggleborns. Of course she knew that Filius would certainly look strange trodding down this cracked old street, and that Severus’s lack of tact made it so she could never send him again, but at the very least Pomona could accompany her. 

          Oftentimes, she didn’t mind these trips into the muggle world. Most of the muggle-born’s parents were grateful, ecstatic that their child really was as special as they knew they were. Though occasionally she would meet a family that proved to her why wizards separated themselves from non-magic folk. 

          She’d only just come from a family like that. The young boy seemed nice enough, though it was obvious he was nearing the beginning of his rebellious stage. The mother, however, was a stone faced statue of a woman. Very rarely did she look up from her television, and even rarer did she look at her son. The child looked starved for attention, but even as she was told how remarkable her son was and could be, she remained apathetic. It was a shame. The boy looked bright. She only hoped the woman cared enough to send him to Hogwarts in a month. It would do well to get him off the London Streets and out of his mother’s house. 

          From the looks of this neighborhood, she would likely feel the same about this next boy. Jones, Ianto. He was a special case. She had another slip of paper somewhere on her person with more information on the matter. Not that she would need it. She studied the paper closely that morning, rehearsing what she would say. Straightforward, no beating about the bush. No need to put the child or his family in any more distress than she had to. She wished they had known the boy was a wizard before they had obliviated him. It would have saved them all a lot of trouble. ‘Still,’ she thought as she trudged up each individual step to his flat, ‘the matter had to be dealt with.’ She rapped her knuckles on the door. 

          “Boy,” she heard grunted faintly from beyond it, followed by small frantic footsteps, stopping just at the other side. The door opened, latch still fastened. She could only see a few inches of the hallway inside. The thin strip was broken by a small face peeking out. His eyes were wide, almost afraid, but certainly not without wonder. Every thought seemed to be written across the striking blue of his irises. He glanced back into the shadows of his flat for a moment. 

          “Good evening, Mr. Jones. May I come in?” she asked, trying to seem a bit less intimidating than she knew she tended to be. The boy stared back at her. 

          “Who’re you?” he said in a tiny, somewhat frightened voice. “How d’you know my name?” 

          A small smile spread across her face. “My name is Professor McGonagall and I’m the deputy headmistress at a school named Hogwarts. I have some business to discuss with you and your father. Preferably, inside, if that is not too much trouble.” 

          He stiffened a little, eyes going wide. “Why?” he asked quietly. 

          “I should like to explain it to both of you at the same time.” 

          The boy nodded slowly, avoiding her gaze as he closed the door and undid the latch. He opened it again, shifting his weight awkwardly before taking a step back, clearing the path into the flat. She smiled at him, the twitch at the corner of her lips just barely visible before she strode inside, heading down the short hallway in the direction of the crackling television. 

          A burly man sat, slouched over the back of a ragged couch. His eyes were glazed over, staring blankly at the advert that flashed across the screen with gaudy colors. He finally caught her slim figure out of the corner of his vision, sitting up suddenly. 

          “The fuck is this?” the man growled towards the hallway. Ianto crept into the room behind her. 

          “Said she wanted to talk to you,” he squeaked, staring at the floor with ruddy cheeks. Pity rose through Minerva’s heart. 

          Before his father could say anything more, she cleared her throat. “I am Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” His eyebrows rose far up his forehead, and his eyes narrowed. “I am here to discuss your son’s natural abilities, and opportunities for his future. I may, of course, sit down?” she said, not waiting for an answer before she perched herself at the edge of the loveseat. 

          “What do you mean witchcraft? Cause I’m not having any of that occult nonsense.” 

          She lifted her hand to silence him. “I assure you, it’s nothing of the sort. Your son happens to have an innate magical ability, passed down from his mother.” 

          The man’s eyes filled with rage. “Now, you don’t say a bloody word about it!” he growled, his voice threatening. Ianto took a step back. 

          “Really, I must persist,” she said stubbornly, sharpening the look of her eyes to keep him in his seat. “Your wife also studied at Hogwarts in her youth.” 

          “I said shut up.” 

          “And I said no, Mr. Jones.” She stood up, staring down her nose at him. “I have been made aware of your family’s situation, and I offer my condolences, but you must consider the well-being of your son!” 

          He sneered back at McGonagall, her eyes glaring back with just as much fire. By now he was perched at the edge of the couch, looking like he could shoot up at any moment to silence her. Her wand was a heavy weight in her bag, reassuring her. The child, Ianto, had curled himself up near the wall. His eyes watched her closely, amazed and terrified all at once. A greater resolve settled inside her. This boy would be going to Hogwarts. 

          “You are required to allow the child to attend school.” Her voice was calm and unwavering. “Resources are available to provide him with the supplies he should need.” She took a ticket stub from her pocket and held it out to him. “The train leaves September the first from King’s Cross Station and he will live there for the duration of the school year.” 

          “You expect me to take him all the way to bleeding London for this?” he growled, snatching it from her hands to examine it. 

          “I do." 

          He stared at her a second more before he tore the stub in two, throwing it to the ground. She heard a small heartbroken squeak from where Ianto sat, just barely recognizable as a sob. 

          McGonagall was unfazed, however. She casually pulled her wand from her handbag and waved it through the air. The two halves of the stub moved in a flurry, as if blown by the wind, but the windows remained closed, and the atmosphere was still stale. The boy’s eyes grew as they danced and swayed, completely restrained to their own space, yet roaming freely and happily around it. Minerva gently reached out and plucked the stub from the air, somehow now connected. She met Mr. Jones’ shocked face and tried not to grin in satisfaction. 

          “You will take your son to King’s Cross, and he will attend,” she stated, allowing no more argument. “A representative will arrive in about a week to take him for supplies. If you wish to join them, you are welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She finished and walked swiftly from the room and down the hall. Allowing herself a tiny smile, she heard the patter of small bare footsteps behind her, quickly catching up after some hesitation. She didn’t turn around, letting him follow her closely out the door 

          “Wait!” he whined. Her robes spun around her as she whirled to face him expectantly. 

          “I suppose you have questions that your father did not?” she asked, a soft smile still on her face. He nodded, looking down at the floor beneath him. She softened her eyes, waiting for him to continue, though the boy waited until they were several paces from his front door. 

          “What did you say about my mum?” he asked meekly. 

          “Merely that she could do the same things you can. You have noticed, haven’t you?” Ianto took a moment before he nodded. 

          “Made the remote fly out the window once.” 

          “Exactly that,” she chuckled under her breath, “and much more.” 

          “I don’t remember her doing any of that stuff….” 

          McGonagall stopped in her tracks, looking down to him. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. You see, our powers are very secret to those that don’t have them. Your mother kept them from your father, and from you. It was very hard on her.” 

          “Dad says she went away because she was a nutter.” 

          “Her body and her magic couldn’t handle being locked away,” she said through clenched teeth. “That’s why she had to leave you. And that’s why you don’t remember her.” 

          Ianto’s eyes turned sad, “And she was like me?” 

          “Yes…I’m sure that she was, Mr. Jones. Do you have more questions for me?” 

          The boy thought for several seconds, his face squished up in concentration. “I don’t know…” he finally admitted. 

          Minerva's lips pinched closer together. “That’s alright. You think on it. I’ll be back in a week to take you for you supplies.” She set her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly before stepping away. “I’ll speak more with you and your father then.” A smile crossed her face as he nodded, and she finally turned to march away, standing tall in confidence that she had done some good for Ianto Jones, no matter how little.


	2. Where You Ought to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of Owen and Ianto's journey as they go through the sorting process.  
> Disclaimer: their houses may not fit your headcanons, but the characters remain true to their canon selves.

          ‘Stand still,’ Owen commanded himself silently. ‘Eyes forward. Stop fidgeting, they’ll notice.’ The girl in front of him climbed the stairs confidently. ‘Yeah, like that.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Just like that. You aren’t nervous. You aren’t scared. You can’t be.’ He didn’t even hear where the girl was sorted, not that he particularly cared. 

          He was at the front of the line now, and all he heard in a clear strong voice was his own name. If he faced resolutely forward, no one but the professors could see his face. Good. It was the students he was worried about the most. As Owen walked towards the hat, he braced himself and faced the crowd. Sinking into the seat, he hoped they didn't notice how weak his knees felt. What looked like a thousand faces stared up at them with their big shining eyes, reflecting the light of the candles. They looked blind. He wished they were, just so they’d stop staring. ‘Ignore them. Stop looking at them. I said _stop_.’ 

          Owen closed his eyes, and before he knew what was happening, the hat fell over his face. It scratched at the tops of his ears, a ragged piece tickling his nose precariously. He waited, wondering how or when the sorting would start, and if it would, ‘ _Please_ , just get on with it.’ 

           _Get on with it?_ came a voice he had never heard before, echoing through his mind. _This is a very important decision. You’d think you’d like me to take my time_ , it muttered, almost offended. No, it certainly was offended now that Owen thought about it. But how was that his problem? It was a hat. A bloody hat that wasn’t even doing its job. Shouldn’t he have been sorted by now? 

           _You’re quite the impatient young man, aren’t you? And you think yourself very wise, as well. I had no idea you knew how to do my job better than I. A rather ambitious assumption. Though you are correct, on one point: You are wise. Much like Ravenclaw._ Owen puffed himself up in his chair. _Nevertheless, wisdom comes in many forms. And many weaknesses follow it. So what is yours? Hm? I think I see it. There. Towards the front of your mind, never good._ Owen’s fingers clenched and unclenched defensively, his jaw harshly set. _Pride_ , it hissed. 

           _I see your dreams for the future here. You’d like to be a healer, one day. Such strong resolution, and so young. It's certainly not an easy path, either. I'm impressed. Sceptical, but impressed_ , it cooed at him condescending. 

          'Sod off,' Owen snarled in his mind. 'I will.' 

           _You_ will _be a healer? Such a strange dream to have at your age. But you’re very sure of yourself. And indeed, very resourceful. Well, it’s quite clear to me now where you shall belong, Owen Harper._

          “SLYTHERIN!” 

          The sea of green robes burst into applause and cheers, and he couldn’t catch the smile pushing itself onto his face quick enough. He hoped no one had noticed as he pulled it back into an intimidating frown. His feet carried him away from the stool and the hat as if on autopilot. As he got closer to the sea, a wave pulled him in and onto a bench. A hand, more like. A firm hand guiding him to the person connected to it. A sly face looked down on him, warming Owen’s cheeks slightly. He looked important; his eyes had an air of confidence that Owen only wished he could manage. 

          “Mark Lynch,” the boy shouted over the excited hall. His handshake was firm as he looked directly into Owen’s eyes. Owen nodded slowly before he realized he hadn’t looked away, and he hadn’t said anything. 

          “Owen,” He said, his voice weak and dry. He cleared his throat. “Owen Harper.” 

          Mark grinned. “So McGonagall said. You know, I don’t think I’ve heard that name around before.” 

          “Yeah...first year,” Owen offered back quietly. This time Mark managed a hearty laugh that settled in Owen’s stomach, twisting things in directions they really shouldn’t go. 

          “I figured that out myself, actually,” Maybe he had imagined it, but he thought he saw Mark's eye twitch towards a wink. “I meant your family. Aren’t many Harpers around here.” Owen’s stomach churned in a much different way than before. 

          “Uh, no. Probably not. My mum, she’s not like us." His heart fell slightly as Mark's eyebrows shot up his forehead. 

          "And your dad?" he questioned. His voice had a tiny edge to it under the charm that was there before. Owen couldn't help but feel disappointed in himself. He wasn't sure why, but he knew by the look on Mark's face that that was the wrong answer. 

          "Don't know," he muttered, his face heating up uncomfortably. 

          Mark's jaw set dangerously before he slowly started to nod. His eyes grew dark for a moment before he quickly hid them with a grin. “Well. You’ll just have to be the first, then.” 

          “The first what?” 

          “The first great Harper, of course. There’s got to be something about you, Owen, that is great. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been sorted here.” Sudden and powerful pride rushed through him. He forced back any thoughts about what the hat said as he smiled at Mark. 

          The dark shine in Mark’s eyes arose once again as he pointed sharply towards the boy that was making his way up to the front of the room. “Watch this,” he growled, leaning in closer as Owen turned around, following his gaze just in time to see him trip up the stairs. A blush settled on the child’s face as he sat down on the stool, closing his eyes tightly. 

          Owen’s eyes grew wide. “Did you predict that?” 

          A deep, deprecating chuckle came from Mark. “ _No_ , I made it happen. Confundus charm. Just a bit of fun, playing with the new mudbloods.” 

          “Mud what?” 

          “Mudblood,” he repeated, “Muggles with magic. I’m sure you couldn’t find pure wizard blood in that bloke for centuries. It’s pathetic. I still can’t understand why they’re allowed here.” 

          He scoffed loudly over the roaring applause when he was sorted into Hufflepuff. “That settles it. Now, if he was sorted here, like you, then I’d give him a chance. But I’ve never heard of a Ianto Jones before. Can’t possibly even be a half-blood…I mean a wizard who’s got a magical parent and a muggle parent. Though they aren’t much better.” Owen looked down at the table again, shame laced through his gut. “You’ll just have to prove yourself.” The sly smile painted itself back across Mark’s jaw. 

          He pointed back at Ianto Jones, who was grinning where he settled into his seat at the Hufflepuff table. “Starting with him.” 

          Owen nodded, eyes set. The Sorting Hat thought he had to prove that he belonged? Fine. It’d get what it asked for, he assured himself. No matter what it took. 

T~*~*~*~T

          Ianto couldn't help but ignore the ceremony that was taking place in front of him. At least four children had already been sorted, but he wouldn't have known their names or houses. The only thing that held his attention was the view above and around him. The stars shone brightly as if the ceiling didn’t exist, but it had to, of course....Didn’t it? He attempted to chart the constellations that he knew, but he only found the big dipper before the line pushed forward a few steps as the next child was called. He stumbled over a loose cobblestone as he took one more step forward. Bitterly he looked down so he could see where he was going. As soon as he was finished however, his eyes rose to the ceiling once more. It shimmered above him, showing off its grandeur. The more he stared, the more he could make out of the endless space staring back at him. Its depth was daunting. 

          One more step forced him directly under a floating candle, forcing Ianto’s eyes away from the vast sky above. Not that he would bother complaining much. The hall around him was just as vast and beautiful. The brick was worn, but solid, betraying centuries of age in every crack. The flames in the fireplaces flicked out just beyond their screens, inviting the new students to indulge in their warmth. The room was bathed in yellow and red light from the candles and fires that surrounded them. It gave each individual a hearty glow, as if from the magic Ianto knew lay just beneath their skin. Beneath _his_ skin as well. That knowledge was only just beginning to set in for him. He was a wizard. He held magic in his own hands, now lying at his sides. In the past few weeks he had stared at those hands, wondered how he could do any of the things Professor McGonagall said he could. Before he couldn’t manage to see anything, but now he could make out each curl and wave of the magic in his palms. It breathed out of him, like a living thing that had taken refuge in his fingertips. Magic had almost a warm-blooded feeling to it, a tingling sensation whenever he held his wand, as if it were its lifesource. 

          Ianto couldn’t help but worry as he got ever closer to the hat. What would it see or say about him? Where would it put him? What if it got it wrong, and he didn’t fit in? Well. At least it couldn’t be any worse than what he was leaving behind. There were only three people ahead of him now. He tried to turn his head back to the ceiling, or back at the light soaked walls, but he couldn’t, now that the hat was only a few feet in front of him, waiting to judge the rest of his life. His stomach jumped when the girl two ahead of him marched onto the stage, face hard with determination. He wished he had her confidence as she stared the hat down. She sat and waited. The hat was on her head no more than a few seconds before it called out happily “Gryffindor!” The girl grinned, did a bow, and skipped to her table. 

          Only two people left. A boy with a sour face slunk up to the chair and sat down. It didn’t seem to matter to the boy where he was placed, so long as the hat managed to do it quickly. He forced the desire to be more like him down as well. He hoped the hat wouldn’t be able to tell how nervous he was. After multiple, long moments the hat finally perked up from its contemplative position and shouted for the entire room to hear, “Slytherin!”. The boy managed a small smile as a table filled with green cheered him on. He forced it away within seconds, not letting a single soul see his happiness. Ianto certainly didn’t wish to be like that boy. 

          The girl in front of Ianto walked up, and suddenly he was next. Nerves started to cloud his mind, and his heart jolted in his chest as his name was called. He took a deep breath, then another before his feet allowed themselves to be moved. They were numb and heavy, but he still trod forward, stumbling a little on the stairs before he turned around and sat. His teeth clenched tightly as he forced the blush off of his cheeks. 

          He had never been in a room this big before. Never a place so full of people, either. Their expectant faces were all turned toward him as Professor McGonagall lowered the hat onto his head. He shut his eyes tightly, ignoring everyone. He didn't know what to expect. Would he sit here for a few moments in tense silence until the hat shouted the name of where he should go? Would it read his thoughts? Would it know what he had been through to get to that point? 

          Before he could think anymore on it, the shabby piece of fabric made contact. _Hm, aren't you complex?_ Ianto tensed as he heard thoughts that were not his own. _Lots of places I could put you. Certainly have a braveness about you, but there's a thirst for knowledge as well. Ambition, there’s certainly lots of that in here. What’s that there? Acceptance and care, too? Yes, you are a tough one. And quite the hard worker. Well? Have you any preference? That might help us along._ Ianto was about to shake his head, tell the hat that, no, he would just like it to choose already, get everyone’s eyes off of him, before he stopped. Yes, he supposed he did have a preference. ‘I want to be accepted,’ he thought, hard, hoping the hat heard him. ‘I want to be safe and cared for.’ The hat tsked quietly. _Not sure I can give you all three…. Safe can be a bit difficult to provide. As for the other two, I think I might have found a match._ ‘Thank you,’ he thought, almost saying it aloud with the ferocity that he felt it. _Yes, I think you’ll do quite well in Hufflepuff!_

          “Hufflepuff” must have been screamed aloud, because the mass of black and yellow robes erupted with cheering and applause. A smile slowly grew on Ianto’s face, and he felt his feet take him to the end of their table. By the time he had reached a seat, he was grinning widely. Students left and right slapped his back harshly, but he didn’t for a second feel the sting of it. Below the raucous din he could just barely hear his own laughing. He wasn’t even sure what he found funny. Maybe it was the waves of relief washing over him, or the ridiculous amount of faces grinning back. Whatever it was, it sent a thrill through him. Professor McGonagall said your house is supposed to be like your family. Ianto quickly reassured himself that, judging by the delight and warmth radiating off of the kids around him, he was getting the exact opposite of what that word previously meant to him. This was his family now, he forced the idea into his head. This was his family now, and he was theirs, and he wouldn’t for a second wish it any other way.


End file.
